


Mechanisms of Faulting

by likewhateverokay



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chimera are especially evil in this, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewhateverokay/pseuds/likewhateverokay
Summary: Curt thought that he'd had enough surprises for one day. He thought that finding out your dead lover is alive, that he's working for a shady organization, that he hates you, and you end up having to kill him; Curt thought that was pretty much the capacity a human could reach in terms of surprises for one day. When he goes to inspect Owen's dead body, he realizes that he was mistaken.Edit: Chapter three was rewritten and reposted.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 36
Kudos: 91





	1. He Was a Friend of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What more can they tell you?  
> I am neither good nor bad but a man,  
> and they will then associate the danger  
> of my life, which you know  
> and which with your passion you shared.
> 
> \- Pablo Neruda, "And Because Love Battles"

It happens in slow motion, like something out of the movies, like the first time Curt saw Owen fall. Owen crumples like a rag doll, body limp and lifeless, supine upon the stairs as blood begins to openly weep from the gaping hole in his head. From the angle of where Curt is standing, he can only make out Owen’s chin and nose, his head resting at an odd angle. Curt never wanted to see him fall again.  
  
Curt knows that he doesn’t want to look at this but he holsters his weapon and briskly wipes away the tears on his cheeks as he takes the few steps up to view Owen’s body. What was it that Owen had said as The Deadliest Man Alive? _The horrors of staying alive._ Perhaps, for Owen, this was a kindness in the end.

This whole time Curt has tried to hold it together but a ragged sound escapes him as he looks at the dead face of his former lover. Owen’s eyes are wide open and his jaw slack in death, his face covered in blood even though most of it is leaking through the back of his head and down the slats of the staircase.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he starts to remove Owen’s jacket. He just knows that he can’t look at him. _He can’t._ He moves to drape the garment over Owen’s bloodied face and pauses, eyes squinting as he takes in the sight with a new strange clinical detachment. Because something is off. Curt wipes the blood from Owen’s face with an almost loving care, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the one side of Owen’s jaw.  
  
It’s straight. Curt knows it’s probably nothing but he wads up the jacket and throws it down on the stairs once the worst of the blood is wiped away. It’s possible that maybe Owen broke his jaw somehow in the last few years and it ended up healing back straight, but Curt finds that unlikely. Owen was born with a bone _missing_ in his jaw that caused its crookedness.  
  
He doesn’t see how breaking it could straighten it out.

Curt uses two fingers to lift up Owen’s chin and pauses, already narrowed eyes furrowing further. There’s a line where Owen’s chin meets his neck. It’s light and discreet, barely noticeable, but Curt is trained to notice things. He reaches out and strokes a digit over the line and pauses before sliding back down several steps out of shock.

_‘What?’_ Is all that Curt can think, brain moving a mile a minute, heart hummingbird quick inside his chest and veins filled with ice as he tries to process what he just felt. Curt has touched Owen’s skin many times; out of anger, out of concern, out of love. He has pressed his hand to that man’s face and splayed his fingers out across the man’s gorgeous visage before kissing him with all of the passion he had inside him.  
  
Curt knows intimately how that face feels, how that _skin_ feels. He knows how _dead_ skin feels. Curt carefully scoots back up the stairs until he’s directly above Owen’s face even though the sight of it makes his stomach turn like curdled milk, makes the ache behind his breastbone tighten and constrict like he’s having a myocardial infarction. Curt gently tips Owen’s head back, fingers going immediately to the line at Owen’s chin and neck.  
  
Curt feels for a moment, the rough pads of his fingers stroking between the slight change in texture between Owen’s neck and chin. And then he prods gently at the line, feels the slightest bit of give and his already rapid heartbeat picks up in rate. Gingerly he slips his finger underneath the line and begins to lift.  
  
It ends up taking both hands to pry away the mask- latex, Curt thinks, or some other kind of synthetic material – and he stares down in shock at the face of a stranger.

_’His eyes are far too light.’_ Curt thinks idly, still holding a bloodied mask of his lover’s face in his hands.

_‘How did I not notice that before?’_ He wonders. Owen’s eyes always had been a deep brown, only slightly lighter than Curt’s own. This man, whoever he is, has eyes about three shades off.  
  
Curt begins to make his way down the stairs, still clutching the mask. His brain hasn’t really caught up with what’s just happened. Hell, his brain hasn’t caught up with this entire day. First it was Owen, Owen alive and so angry and spiteful and Curt _killed_ him. Shot him point-blank in the forehead like he was just another mark. Curt stifles a sound at that thought and looks down at the disgusting thing in his hands.  
  
Then it wasn’t even Owen at all.  
  
Curt stumbles out of the facility, realizing quickly that he doesn’t have anything to drive. He needs to check in with his team, clumsily punching at his watch to reach out to them and dropping the mask to the ground in the process.

“Tatiana, did you take care of the facility?” Curt asks, and there’s a beat of silence that goes on long enough that Curt gets worried before-

“Curt! Curt, can you hear me now?” Barb chirps, disposition entirely too cheery for Curt to deal with right now.

“Where’s Tati at?” Curt asks. “Was the facility taken care of? Is she okay?” he asks in a rush, only briefly looking down at the mask where it lay in the grass.

“Oh, Tatiana is here with me. She blew up the building just fine but got a little dinged up so I’ve been playing medic.” Barb giggles a bit before making a strangled noise.  
  
“Oh,” she says, voice growing soft. “I forgot. Oh, Curt, I’m so sorry. How did… How did things go on your end?” she asks. Curt sucks a breath in, nostrils flaring and shoulders squaring even though there’s no one there to see him.

“The target has been killed,” Curt says. He can’t say, _Owen,_ can’t say _it was a fake._ He has to wait until they’re all in-person to bring that information up.  
  
“Owen is dead? Again?” Barb asks in a small voice and for a second Curt wonders why she even cares when they thought he was a traitor and a villain, but then Curt remembers that the two of them had been friends before as well. That Owen used to go chat with her in the labs when he was visiting ASS. Her words and her tone make Curt’s already aching heart hurt worse.

“The target has been killed.” Curt repeats.  
  
He bends down and picks up the mask, stuffing it into his pocket. “I’m so sor-“ Barb tries to say again before Curt cuts her off.

“I need an extraction; I’m punching my coordinates in now. How quickly before you get here?” he asks her.

Barb lets out a quiet sound. “Jeepers, let me get the coordinate in first.” she says, and is quiet for several long moments before coming back. “Thirty to forty minutes and then we’ll have to arrange for a helicopter to get back to state lines.” She tells him.  
  
Curt sits down in the grass. Feels the cold breeze on his face and his mind is full, full. “I doubt Cynthia will be too happy about that.” He says, plucking at handfuls of grass and tossing it into the wind. He needs to do something with his hands.

“Well, I dunno. We did uncover a secret organization and manage to blow up one of their facilities. She might be amenable.” Barb reasons.  
  
Either Barb doesn’t know Cynthia that well or they have vastly different relationships with that woman. “I’ll see you soon, Barb.” Curt says, cutting off the connection just as Barb is saying “Be careful!”.  
  
Thirty to forty minutes is not a long time but it feels like hours. Curt thinks of nothing but Owen. It’s all his brain can focus on. He thinks of the lover he had before the fall, he thinks of stolen nights and slow kisses and words exchanged that made Curt feel whole in a way he never had before. He of thinks of the angry imposter, the rage and vitriol in him, how he mimicked Owen so well. He thinks of the fact that _Chimera has Owen’s face._  
  
He thinks, _‘Owen might still be alive.’_ And the thought is almost too much to stomach. The hope is too much to bare and he isn’t sure he could take having that ripped away and yet there it is, still somewhere inside him. Ever the eternal optimist, even when he doesn’t want to be. Owen might be alive and Curt could save him. He could make things right again.  
  
And kill every Chimera agent for daring to use his lover’s face against him.  
  
True to their word, Barb and Tatiana arrive about thirty-five minutes after the call ended, and the two women exchange concerned glances when they see Curt sitting cross legged in the grass, head tipped back to the sky in thought. They get out of the car and make their way over to him, Barb immediately dropping to her knees and pulling Curt into a tight hug that he quickly pulls away from.  
  
“Jesus, Barb, give a guy some warning, huh?” he asks, glancing up at Tatiana. “Glad you got everything taken care of okay,” he tells her, not noticing the slight pout that comes over Barb’s face. Tatiana grasps Curt by the forearm and he does the same as she hauls him up off the ground. She gives him an undecipherable look as she sizes him up.  
  
“How are you doing?” she asks, the only one aware that Owen had been his lover. Inexplicably, Curt starts laughing. He can’t even help it. This day has been so crazy and he has a mask, a fucking _mask_ of his dead lover’s face in his back pocket. Barb and Tatiana look even more concerned now.

“Curt-“ Barb starts gently, but Curt waves her off, standing up straight from where he had bent over from the force of his laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Curt says as he gains his exposure. “It’s… it’s been a long day,” he admits, manic laughter ebbing away as the real emotion comes out in his voice.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice as cool as he can make it. “Or, well. I don’t know what I am. Shocked, I guess.” he digs his foot into the ground. “Angry,” he admits. Tatiana gives his arm a squeeze.  
  
“That is understandable. It is not easy to be betrayed by a… friend,” she tells him with sympathetic eyes. Her ponytail is a mess for once, Curt notices idly. It must’ve been a hell of an explosion, he’s almost sorry he missed it. The mask burns a hole in his back pocket.  
  
Part of him doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to make it quite real, because what does it mean? What are the implications? _What could Chimera have done to Owen to get his face? What did they do to him_?  
  
But, Curt has to tell them. What if there’s something that Barb can get off of it? A timestamp or something? Curt clears his throat.

“I wasn’t betrayed by a friend,” he tells them. Tatiana raises an eyebrow while Barb watches the two of them, brow furrowed and just a little bit jealous.

“Curt…” Tatiana trails off when Curt raises his hand.  
  
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the mask, tossing it to her. Tatiana looks startled, staring down at the thing, turning it over in her hands.

“It wasn’t actually Owen,” he tells them, and saying those words out loud actually feel good, feel right in his mouth. Barb snatches the mask from Tatiana.  
  
“This is _amazing_ ,” she says, turning it inside out and not noticing the looks she’s getting from the other two. “Look at these nodes, they must’ve hooked into the face somehow to mimic even the wearers most minute expression.” she continues to babble and Curt doesn’t mean to snap, he doesn’t mean to get angry but it _has_ been a long day.  
  
“Barb, can we just go now? You can analyze it at the lab, right? Maybe… maybe you can find out when it was made?” he asks, trying not to let the childlike hope enter his voice.

Tatiana takes him by the arm and leads him to the car even though he definitely doesn’t need her help and _she’s_ the one that’s injured. “He’s right, Barb. We want to make it to the helicopter on time.” Tatiana calls out as she loads Curt into the backseat.  
  
“Be nicer to Barb,” Tatiana tells him with a hard expression, jabbing Curt in the side with two fingers.

Curt shrugs, wincing. “Shesh, okay,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest after doing up his seatbelt, while Tati climbs in next to Curt, subtly giving his hand a squeeze.

Barb quickly stashes the mask in her bag and makes her way to the driver’s seat while Tatiana and Curt stay in the back. The drive to the helicopter is a long one, fraught with long bouts of silence interspersed with bits of Barb babbling.  
  
“Well,” Tatiana whispers to Curt, leaning into him. “I guess I will get to see the great American Secret Service.” she tells him, nudging him gently in the side with her elbow to emphasize her jest. Curt smiles, the first time he’s felt like smiling all day, and he lets a hand fall to her shoulder that Barb doesn’t miss through the rearview mirror.

“You’re gonna just love Cynthia,” Curt tells her and Tatiana easily spots the lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting idea I workshopped with a friend. I'm hoping to continue, but I'm playing things close to the chest. Tags and ratings are subject to change at some point. 
> 
> Chapter beated by Duck and [VioletHeart3899](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHeart3899)
> 
> The title is from [He Was a Friend of Mine - Willie Nelson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogjV1nT5WW0).


	2. Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not call me: that is my occupation.  
> Do not ask my name or my condition.  
> Leave me in the middle of my own moon  
> in my wounded ground. 
> 
> Pablo Neruda, "Walz Poem."

The only thing that’s worse than meeting with Cynthia after a fuck up is _waiting_ to meet with her. She’s a busy woman and all, but part of Curt thinks that she just likes to make him squirm for a while. The three are sat in the small waiting area outside of Cynthia’s office, Susan standing by the door with his arms crossed behind his back, but eyes diligently trained on the others.  
  
Barb is clutching her bag to her chest, playing with the frayed edges, and trying not to look like she’s panicking. Barb has never been in trouble with Cynthia before, she doesn’t know what ire to expect and she’s nervous and terrible at hiding it. Tatiana is impassive, turned slightly away from Curt, who sat in the middle, with one leg crossed over at the knee while she pretends to inspect her fingernails.  
  
Curt. Curt is just angry. He doesn’t want to listen to Cynthia’s tirade, doesn’t want to be told how much of a fuck up he is. _None_ of that matters because _Owen could be alive_ and that’s the only clear thought that is capable of permeating Curt’s rattled mind. He shakes his head, tries his hardest not to let himself get his hopes up but it’s difficult. It’s fucking difficult because it’s the one thing that Curt’s wanted, _longed for_ these last four years. If there’s even a sliver of a chance…  
  
But there’s no proof. Chimera had Owen once. That doesn’t mean they had him _alive_ , doesn’t mean they pulled him from the wreckage of the weapons facility as anything other than a corpse.

And, oh god. Just thinking about that, about the fall and the explosion and Owen _lying_ there, just lying akimbo and twitching, clearly still somewhat alive, undoubtedly in pain.

And Curt _left_. He knows that rationally he had to in order to save his own life, but Owen is- was his partner. His lover. His _love_. The greatest of which Curt thinks that he will ever know and he left him there like a rag doll forgotten in the streets, left him there so that some nefarious monsters could come and drag him away and _steal his face._  
  
If the imposter had been Owen. If Curt had actually shot the love of his life point-blank in the center of his skull and left him lying there, the hole in his head weeping rivulets of blood over his pretty face like some sick art nuevo painting. _“A Tragedy in One Act,”_ It could’ve been called.  
  
If that had really been Owen, Curt thinks that he would be done. That he would walk into Cynthia’s office, hand in his gun and clearance badge, and be through with the ASS completely.  
  
But it wasn’t Owen. And Curt can take Chimera out on his own, he _can_ , but if there’s even the slightest bit of a chance that Owen is still alive then Curt needs all of the ASS’s resources that he wouldn’t have on his own.  
  
So, Curt sits in the uncomfortable chair in front of Cynthia’s office, angry and waiting and squeezing the sides of the chair tight enough his knuckles are white.

“Stop that,” Tatiana chides, not even looking up from her nails. (Curt doesn’t even know why she’s feigning interest in them, they’re ragged and dirty just like his own.)

The intercom buzzes and Susan opens the door, ushering the three inside. Barb goes in last still looking frazzled despite her best attempts.

“Sit,” Cynthia orders as Susan closes the door behind them and goes to stand by Cynthia’s side. There are only two chairs and Barb sits down first, still clutching her bag, blond hair messy like she’s been running her hands through it.

“Cynthia –“ she starts but Cynthia holds up a finger.

“I said to sit,” she repeats, and there is no argument in her voice. Curt gestures at Tatiana to take the chair and she glances warily between Susan and Cynthia like she doesn’t trust them (she doesn’t) but one assuring nod from Curt gets her to take a seat. Curt simply stands behind the two women, hands grasping at either of their chairs, grip still far too tighter than necessary. Cynthia stares at the three of them coolly as she lights a cigarette and takes a long, slow drag off of it, cherry burning bright in the dimly lit room.  
  
She lets out a plume of smoke before speaking.

"Anyone care to fucking enlighten me just what the shit you three fucknuts have been up to?" she asks, voice even at first but raising in volume by the end of her sentence. Barb begins to stumble out a reply while Tatiana glares at Cynthia blankly. Before Curt can say anything to try and run damage control (not that he's ever managed it before with Cynthia, and not that he’s sure he could as filled with rage as he is) Tatiana speaks up first.

"We have been uncovering and beginning the dismantlement of an evil organization hellbent on distributing the secrets of all governments and civilians. I’d say we did your agency a service, destroying that compound,” Tatiana says with her head held high and shoulders straight. Cynthia's eyes narrow for a moment before she relaxes back in her chair, kicking her high heeled feet up on the desk as she lights another cigarette.

"And Carvour? Is he dealt with?" she asks, looking at Curt with an expression he doesn't want to begin to decipher.

"It wasn't him,” Curt says and Cynthia rolls her eyes.

"Don't play dumb with me I heard everything he said to you, The Informant was wired,” she explains, tapping her ash onto the pile of cigarette butts. Barb lets out a little sound in the back of her throat.

"Oh!" she exclaims, hastily pulling the mask out of her bag. It’s still turned inside out to expose all the nodes and wires and for that Curt is glad because he really doesn’t want to see a hollow copy of Owen’s face, empty eyes, and gaping mouth, still bloodied with a hole in his forehead.

"Curt's right. It wasn't Owen,” Barb explains, turning the mask right side out and gingerly reaching it toward Cynthia, Curt pointedly looks away, stares out of Cynthia’s window at the city skyline. Susan steps forward and grabs it for her when Cynthia makes no move to do so, perfect eyebrow still cocked in question. Susan holds it up for Cynthia's inspection and the barest hint of emotion splays across the older woman’s face before its schooled in less than a second, and no one there but Curt and Susan know her well enough to even pick up on it.

  
“So, it was a double bluff, then,” Cynthia murmurs almost to herself, but her voice is completely calm and neutral as she motions for Susan to hand the unseemly thing back to Barb. "You, go look that over in the lab,” she orders, voice stern but far less harsh than she would be with Curt. Still, Barb practically squeaks as she shoves it back in her bag, nodding and babbling as she hastily makes her way out.

"Sit fucking down, Mega, you're making me anxious just looking at you,” Cynthia says and Curt knows her words are all hyperbolic- he doubts the woman has ever been anxious in her life.

When he's sat down Cynthia sits up straight, legs going under her desk and a fresh cigarette produced as the other is stubbed out. She orders Susan to dump her ashtray before turning back to Tatiana and Curt.

"I should fire both of you for running off without my clearance and YOU-" she points at Curt. "You should be long past fired for that knuckle fucked bullshit you pulled at The World Peace Gala,” she says.

"I do not work for you,” Tatiana tells her blandly. Cynthia just flaps a hand, eyes rolling and face scrunching up.

"Irrelevant. You do now,” Cynthia says and it doesn’t particularly come off as a question.

Tatiana raises an eyebrow. "And if I do not wish to work for the ASS?" Tatiana asks. Cynthia tilts her head, takes in Tatiana’s demeanor, and the calm but calculating aura she gives off.

"You know what Red, I like you. You've got sense which we desperately fucking need here- “ at that she turns to look at Curt with a glower –“ and the abilities necessary to do this kind of work,” She points a finger threateningly at Tatiana, “But don't for one cock sucking second think that I won't have your scrawny pale ass shipped back off to Russia. I'm sure the ASS will be much more welcoming towards you than the KGB would be to a traitor,”

Tatiana's lips flatten in a thin line. "I will consider the job offer,” she says, not entirely unpleasant but not particularly warm either. Curt feels like he just watched a boxing match and he’s amazed. He’s never seen anyone go toe to toe with Cynthia like that without getting the proverbial ax.   
  
Cynthia looks at Tait a long moment, assessing, searching her eyes. Then she nods. "Good. Because I need the both of you on this. From what I've gathered Chimera is- It's like nothing we've ever seen before and we need all the best agents- regardless of background -working on this,”

"Cynthia, they have Owen,” Curt says, unable to stop himself. Despite everything, it’s still the only thing that Curt can think about, whether it’s a truth or merely a wish. Owen could be _alive_ and they’re wasting valuable time not coming up with a plan.

Cynthia turns her attention away from Tatiana. This time he sees real empathy in her gaze, guarded though it still remains. "They made a mask of his face, Mega. That doesn't mean the man is alive. You need to focus on bringing them down and not cling to some unlikely hope that your partner is out there. Owen Carvour is dead. Deal with it,” she says and though her words are harsh, her eyes still hold that singular shred of empathy. Coming from her, it is more than he ever could’ve expected.

Curt looks down at his hands. "But there's a chance…” he trails off, realizing Cynthia is right. Regardless of what, he thinks to be true, he’s letting his personal life interfere with what’s possibly the most important mission of his career, possibly the decade. He sucks in a deep breath.

"What's our first move? Any word on any other bases or operatives?" he asks. Cynthia pulls a file out of her desk.

"Well we've only just heard about them but this is what we've gathered. You two look it over and get to work,” Tatiana and Curt open the file, surprisingly large for only two days’ worth of Intel, and Cynthia rolls her eyes again.

  
  
She slaps her desk. “Not in here! Get out of my office!” She points at the door, voice loud but not quite a yell.

“I have other things to attend to. Go look it over then meet with Barb and see if she found anything about the mask,”

When Curt and Tati don't move right away, she shakes her hand at them. "Scram, scatter. I'm done looking at you right now,” she says, almost curtly, and that’s the end of that.  
  
Susan escorts them out of the office, Curt holding the file in his hands.

“Well, you are a liar, Curt Mega,” Tatiana says as she follows him down the hall to his office. Or, well, where his office as four years ago. He doesn’t really know if he has one now, but it’s late and he doesn’t really care. _It was his office first, anyway._  
  
“What did I lie about?” Curt asks, checking the door handle and finding it unlocked. He’s shocked that it’s exactly the same. The goofy trinkets his mother gave him to decorate with, even his shitty plant the cleaning ladies always had to water for him because he forgot. _‘Huh,’_ he thinks to himself, not sure what to make of it, but grateful for the small favor. He sets the file on his desk while Tati sits atop the desk next to the papers.  
  
“You said I would like Cynthia. That was a lie,” Tatiana says, and she’s smiling. She’s _teasing_ him, good-natured and friendly, and something he hasn’t had in so very long. Curt smiles back, plopping down in his desk chair, turning in a circle once just to get it out of his system. He lets out a laugh, everything pushes to the back of his mind as Tatiana smiles warmly down at him.  
  
“Well, it was a bit of an over-exaggeration, but!” Curt holds up a finger. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like arguing with her. I saw you. Didn’t know you were the power game type, Tat,” He says. Tatiana pulls a face and pushes Curt’s feet off of where he’s propped them on the desk before pulling one of the guest chairs over to his side and sitting down.  
  
“Do not call me that,” she says jokingly, but her eyes are serious. Curt nods, clears his throat. It’s almost a gulp. He taps the file briefly.

“We have to look at this,” he says. Tatiana nods. “We do.”  
  
Curt sighs and goes right for it, opening it up. There are two sections, one on information on possible bases, and another on the experiments that Chimera is suspected of. Tatiana offers to take that one and Curt should let her but he’s nothing if not stubborn and masochistic.  
  
The two pour over their respective documents for a long time. Hours pass. Tatiana makes notes of names and locations, six known bases with another expected ten at least, as well as eleven names. Owen is not one of them. For Curt, it’s harder. He reads about human experimentation, shock therapy, lobotomies. He reads about the kinds of things no persons should ever experience and he thinks about Owen, of course, he thinks about fucking Owen.  
  
Schrodinger’s fucking cat. He’s alive or he’s dead and either way, things were done to him, had to have been done to him, that Curt can’t bear to think about. He slams the file shut and scoots his chair back.

“I need a fucking drink,” Curt says. Tatiana doesn’t know entirely about Curt’s issue with alcohol, she’s drunk with him before, and she understands the need for a bit of libation. She knows, too, that this cannot be easy for him. It’s clear in his face as stoic as he tries to seem.

Tatiana doesn’t understand it but she _knows_ Curt, has from nearly the beginning, and she thinks that he knows her too. Is this what having a friend is like? It is not something Tatiana has been awarded the luxury of in her life. Tati stands as well, takes Curt by the arm because she can and because she thinks he needs the contact.  
  
“Let us go visit Barb first,” she insists.

Curt groans. “I don’t wanna see _Barb_ ,” He says even as he allows Tatiana to lead him out of his office. Tatiana gives his arm a painful squeeze.

“What did I tell you before?” she asks warningly. “You be nice to her, Curt Mega,” she says. Curt nods reluctantly, feeling like a chastised child.

Barb rushes up to them the second they enter the lab. “Curt!” Barb exclaims, making an awkward movement before standing still and smiling, eyeing the pair’s linked arms. “And Tati! Are you two done going over the debriefing?” she asks. Tatiana shakes her head.  
  
“Not quite. But we did think that we should come and question your expertise,” Tatiana says, making Barb smile shyly, unused to the praise. Curt detangles himself from Tati.  
  
“Do you know anything about the mask?” Curt asks. Barb’s face falls and Curt feels something. It’s like his veins are on fire, his skin; like he’s sick with something he can’t sweat out. _‘That was my only lead to Owen.’_ He thinks as Barb begins to explain that while they’re deciphering the way it works, they can’t really give a timestamp of when it was made. It could’ve been days ago. It could’ve been years.  
  
“I’m sorry, Curt,” Barb says softly while Tatiana reserves her words for later. Barb touches Curt’s arm gently and he nods, giving a forced smile as he thinks of Tatiana’s threat.

“Not your fault, Barb. You’re doing the best you can,” Curt tells her and while it isn’t exactly a compliment, it isn’t as mean as he feels like being.  
  
“I’ll keep you two updated, though. This stays between us down here, you guys, Cynthia, and Susan,” Barb tells them. Curt nods, while Tatiana crosses her arms over her chest.

“I assumed that was the case,” she says, but there’s a small teasing grin on her face.  
  
“Well, I hate to run off but we’re about to try a new test on the mask that I’m really excited for. See- we want to test the capabilities of the nodes when tried on another person, or if they’re genetically coded to a spec- “ Curt pats her shoulder.  
  
“That’s great. You keep us informed,” he tells her. Barb smiles and waves at the two of them before making it back over to her team. “Can we get the fucking drink now?” Curt whispers to Tatiana as they exit the lab.

“No. We finishes our file and then we drink. We are professionals, Curt,” Tati tells him. Curt rolls his eyes but he doesn’t argue. As much as he wants to get so drunk, he can’t remember the day, he knows that he can’t afford it, not right now when there’s so much at stake.  
  
By two in the morning, they call it a night even though there’s still a little bit more to go through. It’s mostly useless details and conjecture, but they need to scour every inch of it to find the bits that are possible, that are real.  
  
They go back to Curt’s DC apartment and he makes the two of them a nightcap before sitting down next to Tatiana on the couch. She rests her head against his shoulder as she accepts the glass and there’s something very precious about his moment. A warm body pressed against his own with no expectations of romance or hiding behind pretense. Curt takes a drink off of his straight whiskey and lets out a sigh.  
  
The two are silent for a moment, both mulling over the last two days' events. “Do you wish to tell me about Owen?” Tatiana asks suddenly, setting her empty glass of whiskey on the table, having already finished the whole thing. Curt chugs the rest of his in one go and sets it down next to her, a tiny little clink as the glass click together. Curt is suddenly stiff.  
  
“Haven’t I already?” he asks, looking down at his hands.

Tatiana sits up. “You told me how you lost him. You did not tell me _about_ him,” she says. Curt turns his head towards his kitchen but still feels Tatiana’s gaze on him.

“Well, you saw how he looked. His hair used to be longer, though,” Curt says and Tatiana gently punches his arm.

“I am serious. You are in pain. I see it,” she touches the spot she hit as Curt squints at her with annoyance. “Talk about him.”  
  
They argue for a moment. Curt is raw. He is cut up and bleeding, this gaping wound inside of him that never healed right, that has been reopened. Eventually, after a second glass, Curt finds himself lying on the floor next to the sofa while Tatiana dangles off the couch to look at him.  
  
“He was really smart,” Curt says. He’s not drunk. He needs a _lot_ more to be drunk, but he is loosened up. Buzzed. Tatiana nods.

“And?” she prods.

Curt sighs, pulls down one of the pillows from the couch and puts it over his head. He stays like that for a moment before tossing it away. “He was everything. Witty, funny, could deal with my bullshit. Hell, he _liked_ my bullshit. Level headed. Beautiful. Fucking name it. Owen was everything,” Curt says and he has to blink rapidly to keep himself from crying, but he manages it. He extends his hand up towards the ceiling, reaching for something intangible and out of grasp.

"Gone now," Curt says, holding back that sliver of yearning desperation that tells him Owen is out there.  
  
“You must have really loved him,” Tatiana tells him. Curt nods.

“Yeah,” Curt mumbles, voice merely a rasp.

“I have never loved. Maybe it is nicer to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” Tatiana says with a quiet laugh that’s entirely mirthless.

“I’m not fond of poetry,” Curt says, sitting up. He needs to go to bed if they have work to finish tomorrow.  
  
“You take the bed; I’ll take the couch,” Curt says, and Tati doesn’t even argue, just gratefully accepts. Curt stays lying awake on the couch for a very long time, thoughts filled with the horrible things he read, putting Owen’s face in every scenario. Sleep, when it comes, is restless and uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter beated by [VioletHeart3899](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHeart3899)
> 
> Titile is from [Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuuObGsB0No).


	3. The Past and Pending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,  
> who does not allow himself to be helped,  
> who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly...
> 
> \- Pablo Neruda, “Dies Slowly”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was deleted and revamped.

Curt awakens to the quiet sounds of domesticity, last night’s whiskey still a stale taste on his tongue. He can hear Tatiana puttering around his apartment but doesn’t find the need to open his eyes until he hears the familiar sound of a book being closed.

He’s not a stupid man. He isn’t. But he’s not an avid reader. The apartment came with bookshelves built-in but the only thing Curt could think to put on them was the odd little trinkets his mother was always gifting him. There are only two books in his apartment and one of them- Curt sits up on the couch, eyes on Tatiana.

“What are you doing?” he asks her, voice still hoarse with sleep. Tatiana blinks at him slowly like a curious cat, her expression blank as she slides the book back into its spot on the shelf.

“Snooping,” she admits. Curt frowns, scowls really, standing up quick enough that it leaves him lightheaded.  
  
“Well, don’t,” he says, snatching the other book up. Tatiana hadn’t even picked up the right one but she has no right- Curt feels the anger drain out of him as Tatiana gently pries the book from his hands.

“You did not want me to see _this_?” she asks tentatively. Curt nods, watches as she opens it to see the way that it is hollowed out, the envelopes stuffed inside neatly, yellowed with age and stained from splotches of moisture- tears, alcohol, they could be either. Tatiana’s eyes widen slightly before a sad look comes over her face. “Oh.”  
  
“Yeah, _oh,_ ” Curt mumbles, thumbing at the papers before closing the book and sliding it back onto the shelf. Tatiana has the grace to look apologetic and she reaches out and places a gentle hand on his arm. She does not ask who the letters were from. She does not need to.  
  
“I am sorry,” she mumbles, gives his arm a tentative squeeze before there is a small teasing smile that begins to tug across her face. “You do not have a lot of entertainment here, though. And I did not want to wake you,” she admits. Curt nods, purses his lips.  
  
“Just- ask next time, yeah?” Curt asks. Tatiana lets out a quiet noise of affirmation.

“Can you cook?” she asks. “Because I cannot and I am _starving_ ,” she tells Curt with a smile, head tilted to the side.  
  
Curt snorts. “Even if I had food here, which I don’t, I can’t cook either. My mom always did that stuff for me and I never, uh, really learned. Lived off bodegas and takeaway when I was on my own and Owen - “Curt cuts himself off. He fucking _needs_ to fucking _stop_ thinking about Owen. Yeah, sure, he’s thought about nothing but him for the last four years, hell, he’s thought about nothing but Owen since they first got partnered together. So, it’s hard, yes, but unproductive. _Keep your eyes on the fucking prize, Mega._ A voice inside of his head seethes. It sounds like Cynthia. It sounds like himself.

“Let us go get breakfast then,” Tatiana says, grabbing Curt by the arm. Curt eyes her up and down. She’s stolen one of his shirts and a pair of his pajama bottoms and she’s practically swimming in them. Curt fell asleep in the same clothes he’s had on for the last few days. The hem of his pants are still stained with the stranger’s blood.  
  
  
“We should probably change first,” Curt says and Tatiana nods.  
  
“And a shower. You are stinky,” She tells him, making Curt roll his eyes. “Also, I do not have any more clothes so you will need to take me shopping.” At that Curt pulls a face. He hates shopping unless it’s for a suit then he can do it for hours, but otherwise he’d rather grab the first things that fit and match and go from there.  
  
“We need to be at ASS headquarter-“ He cuts off to check his watch and winces. “Forty minutes ago. Fuck. Did you turn off my alarm?” he asks, nodding his head towards the bedroom. Tatiana at least has the decency to look ashamed.  
  
“I may have… smashed it a bit. I could not figure out how to turn it off,” she admits and Curt lets out a long sigh. Cynthia is going to kill him, but then again, what else is new.  
  
“Okay, shower then bodega and _then_ we’ll get you something to wear. I guess Cynthia can just have a fucking hernia,” Curt says as he pushes past Tatiana to go to the bathroom. “And you’re not smelling too fresh yourself Tati so you might want to take one next,” He tells her before shutting the bathroom door.  
  
Tatiana just shrugs before going back to snooping around Curt’s apartment. She should feel guilty but she doesn’t. She’s curious and Curt is a brick wall when it comes to giving out details about himself. She goes to sit on the couch when she hears the shower shut off. Curt comes out in a towel and scurries off to his room, slamming the door in his haste.  
  
“Shower’s free,” Curt calls out. “You can just wear my clothes to the shops, I’m messaging Cynthia from my watch right now- Fuck,” He curses. “She’s pissed, so hurry up.”  
  
Tatiana sighs as she pulls herself off the couch. She needs caffeine and something greasy in her immediately. She feels like it’s going to be a long day.  
  
\----  
  


Tatiana has plenty of money stashed away but unfortunately doesn’t have access to it in DC, so Curt graciously offers to buy her a few essentials but refuses to go inside to shop with her, pink in the face at the mere prospect of going into a woman’s clothing store. In the end, he picks up their coffee and gets them bagels with lox and cream cheese, waiting on a park bench outside the café for Tatiana to make an appearance.  
  
She shows up in a black turtle neck and black slacks, looking far more ready for fieldwork than the office work they’ll be doing today. Curt himself is in one of his less flashy suits, just a plain black and white one tailored more for business than espionage. He hands Tatiana her stuff and eyes the bags in her hand.  
  
“Hope you didn’t go too crazy,” he says. Tatiana shrugs and the bags crinkle as she shakes them a little.  
  
“You did not give me a limit,” she tells him with a wink that makes Curt immediately start thinking about his bank account. “I am joking, Curt,” She says, juggling her bags and coffee with one hand so she can slip her arm through his as they walk to his car. She leans lightly against his side and not for the first time, Curt is grateful for her friendship, her closeness. He’s never had that with someone he wasn’t also romantically (or sexually) involved with, and it’s a very welcome change.  
  
The bags of clothes go in the backseat while Curt climbs behind the wheel. “So, we’re only a few hours late. I’m sure Cynthia will have some colorful words to share with us,” Curt says as he starts the car.

Tatiana just laughs. “I am not afraid of Cynthia. I think she likes me,” Tatiana says. Curt snorts.  
  
“Well, she always does have a soft spot for whoever has to put up with me,” he jokes but Tatiana’s eyes grow soft.  
  
“She has a soft spot for you too, no?” she asks. When Curt doesn’t say anything Tatiana just blows on her coffee and pretends, she can’t smell the whiskey that Curt topped his own off with.  
  
The drive to headquarters takes less than thirty minutes but Cynthia is already waiting in the lobby, a cigarette dangling from her lips and her arms crossed over her chest. “My office, now. The both of you,” she says before turning on heel and making her way down the hall.

Tatiana once again slips her arm through Curt’s as they follow after her. “We are in trouble,” she teases, as they follow the click of Cynthia’s heels down the hall toward the elevator. Barb is already seated in Cynthia’s office when they get there and Cynthia immediately stubs out her cigarette and motions for Tatiana and Curt to sit down.  
  
Susan closes the door behind them and then stands beside Cynthia’s desk with his arms clasped in front of him neutrally.  
  
“I assume the two of you finished the file I gave you yesterday,” Cynthia says as she picks up a pen and begins making notes in the file on her desk. Curt and Tatiana share a look before Curt opens his mouth. “We did not,” Tatiana interrupts. Cynthia looks up with a raised brow. “We needed to visit Barb in the labs, and most of what was in the file is conjecture and heresy. It’s a lot to parse through to find the truth,” Tatiana argues.

Cynthia drops her pen and leans back in her chair, kicking her legs up on the desk. Barb is a ball of adrenaline in her seat, glancing between Tatiana and Cynthia before looking at Curt who is standing behind their chairs. He gives the most minute of shrugs and watches the two women in front of him.  
  
“Are you saying that my information isn’t any good?” Cynthia asks, gesturing for Susan to light her a cigarette and he quickly abides. Her face is completely composed and emotionless, save the one eyebrow still perfectly arched.  
  
Tatiana relaxes in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “The business of information is often fraught with _mis_ information. I merely thought it wisest that Curt and I be as diligent as possible about what we consider useful,” Tatiana pauses, leaning forward a little, eyes unreadable. “I thought that you would appreciate the very best information be parsed out for a mission so important,” she says.  
  
Cynthia takes a drag off her cigarette and Tatiana and her continue to stare at one another for a long moment, neither woman relenting. After a moment Cynthia sits back up and tucks her legs beneath her desk, cigarette going in the ashtray. She turns to Barb.  
  
“Take them down to the lab and go over everything new that you’ve found,” Cynthia says, before giving Barb a brief nod.

Barb stands up. “Oh, uh, of course. Yes, Cynthia. I’ll- I’ll get down there right now and show them everything that we’ve found. It’s _so_ interesting really, you wouldn’t believe the way the nodes work. It’s almost like there’s a neural pathway…” Her voice trails off as she makes her way out of the office, seemingly unaware that Curt and Tatiana are still stuck in place.  
  
“Mega, stay here. Red, follow her. Susan, wait outside” Cynthia says, nodding towards the door. Tatiana stands with straightened shoulders and quietly makes her way out of the room. “And finish that goddamn file for god’s sake before I kill Curt and you my fucking self.” Cynthia calls out after her, falsely chipper voice in place.

Susan follows as well, shutting the door behind him and standing outside to allow Cynthia and Curt a moment of quiet.  
  
Cynthia steps out from behind her desk and comes to stand in front of it, arms stretched out along the length of the hardwood of the desks. Curt is still standing as well, his own arms stretched over the backs of the two guest chairs, and it feels a strange position to be in when it is just the two of them.  
  
“Don’t think I don’t know that the Russian covered for you,” Cynthia tells him but the heat in her voice feels forced, now softened minutely from how she spoke to Tatiana moments ago. “If you can’t do this mission, Mega, then you don’t need to be on it,” she says.  
  
Curt shakes his head. “No. It has to be me,” He says. “They had my- my _partner’s_ face. Used it to taunt me. Cynthia, how could I let anyone else work on this _but_ me?” he asks.  
  
Cynthia sighs clasping her hands in front of her as she gives a glance downward. She could speak about how Curt _always_ thinks it has to be him, how he has to always play the hero no matter the cost. She holds her tongue, not because she doesn’t want to say it, but because that isn’t what she meant about him not doing the case. That isn’t a pertinent discussion at the moment.  
  
“I think you’re going to get your hopes up. I think you’re going to let your emotions get the better of you and you’re going to get yourself or Miss Moscow hurt,” Cynthia tells him bluntly. “I think you think you’re going to find Owen when the likelihood is that he’s dead. He’s still dead.”  
  
Curt says nothing. “I don’t think that,” he lies. For all his training in subterfuge, it’s an obvious falsehood. “Owen is dead. I know that. I just have to stop the people that… that used him like that. Used his face,” Curt tells her, and that isn’t a lie at all.  
  
Cynthia nods. “Well, I’m letting you make the judgment call. Don’t fuck this up or you’re out and the soviet is being sent home,” Cynthia tells him, clearly at least somewhat caring since her threat has lessened from murder to firing and deportation. Cynthia moves back to her seat and presses a button on her intercom to call Susan back in.  
  
“I’m not going to fuck it up,” Curt promises, and if it is more to himself than anything, Cynthia doesn’t notice or comment. “I’m not gonna fuck it up,” He repeats, the slightest bit louder but Cynthia waves him out of her office with a colorful insult and a flip of the bird.

\---

  
Tatiana is already in the lab talking to Joseph, Laura, and Barb when Curt comes in. Curt notices them at first before he notices the three men standing in the corner near a big machine. Curt tenses immediately. One of them is wearing the Owen mask and the other- he’s wearing The Deadliest Alive mask. ‘ _How did they even get that?’_ Curt wonders, mouth agape. He takes a step forward towards them, ignoring Barb and Tatiana speaking to him.  
  
The Owen mask is damaged. It must be from the gunshot hole Curt blew in the middle of it. Curt scowls, feeling a sudden surge of rage as he can see Charlie’s eyes through the eyeholes of the loose mask, the poorly stitched and wired hole in the forehead.

“Take that off,” Curt orders. Charlie flinches back a little.  
  
“We were just trying to see if we could get the clinging function to work. Repair the broken nodes and wiring that you, uh, disabled when you shot it,” Charlie tries to explain. Curt’s scowl deepens.  
  
“Take it off,” he says again, this time going so far as to reach out and grab Charlie by the lab coat. When Charlie doesn’t immediately do so, Curt gives him a harsh shake and that’s the breaking point that has Tatiana stepping in and grabbing Curt’s arm as she yanks him off of the other man.

Tatiana begins to mutter angrily in Russian, squeezing Curt’s arm in a vice-like grip as she drags him away from the scientist.

Charlie pulls the mask off anyway and sets it gingerly on the table behind him. “Sorry,” the man says, though he as no reason to apologize. He’s clearly a little shaken but doesn’t seem particularly bothered. More, startled, really.  
  
Curt _has_ a reason to apologize but he doesn’t. There’s a rage even he doesn’t understand that came over him at the sight. Instead of saying anything, he pulls his arm away from Tatiana, shaking it a little to regain some of the circulation back from her tight grip. He takes in a deep breath and looks around the scientist's team.  
  
“How did we get The Deadliest Man Alive’s mask?” Curt asks, still breathing slightly heavy. He isn’t sure what came over him, but he’s embarrassed now at his reaction.  
  
Barb steps in finally. “We recovered it when we did an extraction of the Informant’s body,” she explains, voice sad as she mentions the man. Curt nods. That makes sense.  
  
“Isn’t it interesting how the mask functions? This one is still in one piece so it molds to Joe’s face perfectly,” Irene says, gesturing at the man. Curt nods.

“Uh, huh. Okay. So, what does that mean for us exactly?” Curt asks, bored. Tatiana grabs his arm and squeezes again. Barb watches the gesture and heaves an internal sigh, a drop in her stomach.  
  
Tatiana smiles at Irene. “I think what Curt is trying to ask what this information does for our mission?” Tatiana corrects. Irene relaxes a little, looking down at her clipboard.  
  
“It means that it’s not genetically coded to fit a particular person. Anyone could wear any mask,” Irene tells her. “There are two masks we know about. How many more are there?” Irene asks. Barb steps forward.  
  
“That’s certain information you agents need to know out in the field. Chimera operatives could be hiding as anyone,” she chirps.

Tatiana nods and pats both Barb and Irene on the shoulder. Curt gives a half nod and hum and Tatiana has to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Thank you both for your information,” she tells them.  
  
Curt clears his throat. “We really should go and look over those files though,” Curt says, and it’s only partially an escape from the conversation. Irene just shrugs and gives a half-hearted goodbye before walking off. She’s probably still upset over the test tube Curt drank, but he’d been _thirsty_. Curt shrugs it off. He doesn’t particularly care about her opinion of him.  
  
“Well, you two go find the bad guys,” Barb says with a forced smile, eyeing the grip Tatiana has on Curt’s arm. Tatiana notices her glances. Curt does not. Tatiana says nothing but she smiles.  
  
“And you find out more information about the masks,” Tatiana says pleasantly, before bidding her farewell, stomping on Curt’s foot discretely to make him say a pleasant goodbye.

When they get out into the hall Tatiana releases Curt’s arm. “How many times must I tell you to be nice to Barb!” Tatiana exclaims as they make their way to Curt’s office. “And the rest of the scientists for that matter!” she says as they enter the office.  
  
“I don’t know what came over me, okay?” Curt asks. “Let’s just fucking- can we finish this damn file?” Curt asks. He needs to be out in the field, not doing paperwork. Tatiana sighs and stares at him as she remembers their conversation the night before.  
  
“Okay.” She says finally, easily. This is what you do for your friends, she thinks as she sits down at the desk to begin working. You help them. Curt is surprised by her immediate agreement but doesn’t question it, grateful for the acquiescence.

They spend the next four hours finishing up their research. Tatiana has a list of bases with locations, as well as a long list of names associated with Chimera that need to be researched and taken out if necessary.

Curt has a list of the kind of crimes Chimera is suspected of; information found during autopsies on dead agents they’ve found. It’s horrific stuff. Body modification, brainwashing, torture; and that doesn’t even include the whispers of cryogenics and brain implants, though Curt kept that off his list because there was not solid proof. He did, however, make a mental note to verify or disprove the claim once they have more information.

Tatiana clears her throat, shaking Curt from his thoughts.  
  
“I think- I think we have enough information to start,” Tatiana says, her voice somewhere between _excited_ and anticipatory. “We start with the weakest base and work up from there?” she asks, tapping her pen against her chin.  
  
Curt nods. “Yeah, that works. We need to visit Cynthia,” he says, gathering up the file to go over with the older woman. The conversation is brief and contains lots of swearing but Cynthia approves, setting them up a flight to Bangladesh first thing in the morning for their first mission.

\---  
  
Once Tatiana and Curt have left the lab, Barb rushes over to Charlie. “Oh my gosh!” she says. “Are you okay?” She touches his arm.  
  
Charlie blushes, nodding his curly head. He’d only been grabbed and shaken a little. “I mean we all know how Mega can get,” Charlie says, feigning indifference. Barb places her other hand on his arm other arm, effectively grabbing him gently by the shoulders and Charlie feels his face heat up, even more, his pulse quickening.  
  
“Still, Curt doesn’t generally grab people he works with. I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Barb argues, and Charlie holds back a sigh. “Maybe don’t wear the Owen mask anymore?” she reasons.  
  
Charlie nods. “It’s not like it works anyway. Agent Mega blew a hole right in the center. I thought the replacement wires I put in would get it working, but nothing. I’ll try to work on the nodes next” he says.  
  
“Uh, guys,” Joe says, motioning over to the centrifuge. “I think we know what these masks are made out of,” he says. He’s taken off the mask and there’s a look on his face somewhere between stricken and amazed. The rest of the team gathers around him but it’s Laura that gasps in shock.  
  
“Human DNA,” she says, covering her mouth.  
  
Joe nods. “But only hints of it. The whole thing is still silicone-based as well as some other element we can’t identify,” he explains. Joseph frowns.  
  
“An unknown element?” he asks, while Laura and Barb are busy discussing _why_ there could be traces of DNA inside of the mask’s makeup.  
  
“Unidentified. It doesn’t mean it’s unknown,” Joe argues, but it’s a feeble argument. They’re one of the most technologically advanced labs in the world. They should be able to identify any element in existence.  
  
“They must have had to use DNA in order to get the masks look like their… counterparts,” Barb interrupts. “Which means they had to collect DNA off of them. And I’m not sure I want to know how exactly they obtained that DNA, or where they took it from,” she says.  
  
“We are not telling, Mega,” Charlie says, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you think he went mad over just seeing the mask, imagine how he’d feel if traces of his partner were embedded within the mask’s genetic code.”  
  
“It shouldn’t even have a genetic code,” Irene argues, but Joe just motions towards the results.  
  
“Well, it does. At least in a way,” he tells her. Barb bites her lip, looking among her lab partners.  
  
“Joseph, analyze the DNA traces we found on the masks. Joe run the centrifuge again, maybe a hair or skin cell got into the sample from one of us,” Barb orders. “Irene, inspect The Deadliest Man Alive’s mask, find out what makes the wiring, codes, and nodes interface with one another, and how much genetic coding gets into the mix.”  
  
The three scamper off to follow her orders. Barb turns to Charlie and Laura. “Charlie, keep trying to repair the Owen mask. Just- just don’t put it on again, okay?” She asks. “We’ll have to make sure Curt isn’t anywhere nearby when we check it again next.”  
  
Charlie nods. “Of course.” He tells her. He has an invention of his own that he’s been working on, but he understands that right now they need the entire team on the job. Barb being the one that is asking it of him has nothing to do with it.  
  
“Laura,” Barb says finally, turning to the other woman and looking her in the eye. “You wanna help be search the database for the DNA we found off of the Deadliest Man Alive’s mask?” she asks. “Even if it isn’t his DNA, there’s a chance we can find out who this man truly is now that we have him,” she explains.  
  
Laura nods and follows Barbara over to their wall of computers.  
  
\---  
  
After setting up the flight for Bangladesh, Cynthia sends Susan home. Left alone in her office she puts her head down in her hands. She needs a drink and another smoke. This whole Chimera business is not something that any of them were prepared for, and she’s too suspicious to reach out to MI6 in case they’re compromised.  
  
So, it all rests on her shoulders. And that’s not even bringing Mega and Carvour into the picture. Curt is still clearly pining, still full of that false hope that used to make him endearing but is just pissing her off. His optimism is going to get him killed. And Carvour… there’s no way that Owen is alive.  
  
Yes, she had liked the agent. Considered him a friend, even, as much as she considers Curt or any of her agents’ friends. But she can’t deny the facts. Owen died over four years ago now. They have no proof he’s alive besides the fact that an evil organization made a mask out of his face. Cynthia doesn’t think that’s proof. That’s just happenstance, and she needs Curt to grow a pair and man fucking up. She doesn’t need him stuck in the past, mourning and searching for a ghost.  
  
Speaking of partners, Cynthia isn’t certain how she feels about Tatiana. The woman is a professional, quick-witted, and a good fighter. But, she’s a former KGB operative. Yes, her file says she defected years ago but there’s always deep cover. There’s always another angle. She doesn’t trust the woman, even if she enjoys her style as an agent.

Tatiana reminds Cynthia of Owen, in a way. Her sharp, level headed mind and, from

She has a sharp, level headed mind and a quick tongue, always ready with a response. And, according to her file, she’s a master at going undetected, at getting the job done without any grandeur. Maybe she will be good for Curt as Owen had been. A counterbalance. And maybe not. Cynthia doesn’t trust her and while she’ll take her assistance now with Chimera, while she’ll let her work with _Curt_ as a partner; if the time comes where Tatiana is a liability or outstays her usefulness…  
  
Well, Cynthia will just have to get to that if it comes to it.

\---

  
Later, back at Curt’s apartment, Tatiana fills them two large glasses of whiskey after they’ve eaten some takeaway. She sits down close to him, the radio spooling out lazy and quiet in the background. Curt takes the glass and drinks deeply from it as Tatiana leans into him, warm comforting weight on his side, though not as warm and comforting as the whiskey sliding down his throat.  
  
“You want something,” Curt says, not a question. Tatiana merely gives him a sad smile, pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. It’s down for once, long and stringy from not having been brushed it properly today. Tatiana opens her mouth, gnawing lightly at her lower lip before speaking.  
  
“I wanted to know if you wished to talk again,” she pauses. “Like last night,” she clarifies. Curt stiffens, his body one large exposed nerve as he takes another long drink and shakes his head. His hand is steady but the glass rattles a little against the coffee table, belying his appearance.  
  
“No, no. Not really,” Curt tells her honestly. He turns to face her, takes her hands in his own. Tatiana’s hands are cold within his. “You’ve never been in love before?” he asks, already knowing the answer.  
  
Tatiana shakes her head as Curt searches her eyes. He gives a brief nod in acknowledgment.  
  
“Falling in love with Owen was like growing an extra limb and now- with him gone. It’s like there’s some part of me that’s missing. Like I’m not- I’m not _whole_ anymore.” Curt pauses, let’s go of Tatiana’s hands, and looks down at his rough palms. “I don’t like talking about him,” Curt admits.

He holds back all he wants to say about the current situation and the irrational hope he has that Owen is alive when everyone has been talking about him like he’s dead. He doesn’t want to hear those same kinds of words from her.  
  
Tatiana looks extremely saddened by this information. “It is not the same but- my family. I would feel the same way if I lost one of them,” she says. Curt nods and the two of them finish off their drinks before pouring another, and then another.  
  
“To Bangladesh tomorrow!” Curt says, clinking their glasses together. Tatiana laughs and shares in his toast. Eventually, the two are drunk enough that they’re about to pass out. This time, Tatiana takes the couch at her insistence, stating that Curt needs to get a good night’s sleep after everything he’s been through.  
  
Curt, for once doesn’t argue and curls up in the cool, comfortable sheets of his bed.

  
Sleeping is easier when he’s drunk. There are no dreams. No fears. No memories. It’s a restless slumber that he falls into, his only thoughts on the mission tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Natalie
> 
> Title is from [The Past and the Pending - The Shins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnjZmyLh0ws)


	4. The Memory is Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furious dreams, rivers of bitter certainty,  
> decisions harder than the dreams of a hammer  
> flowed into the lover’s double cup
> 
> \- Pablo Neruda, “Luminous mind, bright devil”

Usually, the drink dulled any dreams Curt might have. Gave him a reprieve. Or, if he did dream it was always some fantastical plot where he saved Owen from that fateful fall.

But that night _, Curt dreamed of Owen and their last evening together. After a bit of a tussle in one of the motel beds; Owen had passed out atop of Curt, face pressed into his neck and limbs splayed out across Curt’s chest. Curt had seen him sleep on his own before, and Owen was not the type to spread out in such a manner. To leave himself so exposed and open. No, alone, he laid rigid on his side, always facing the door. Curt was similar in that regard, but something about having Owen in his arms made things different. And, Curt liked to think, that it made things different for Owen too._

_That maybe Curt made him feel safe because there he was tucked alongside his lover’s body, held securely in Curt’s arms and breathing, softly into the ticklish side of Curt’s neck. Curt ignored the slight itch it caused, too enamored with the puff of Owen’s breath, with the rise and fall of his visible ribcage and the way he could feel Owen’s heart beating against Curt’s own from where their bare chests were pressed together._

_Curt wrapped his arms tighter around the deceptively slim man in his hold and just stared at him. Owen may have been tall but he was slight in build, bones visible beneath his skin, and Curt trailed his fingers up the rocky ridges of Owen’s spine. Slender and lithe but it worked in his favor, gave him an advantage. He might not have been a bruiser like Curt. Not a man for one on one, hand to hand combat. He was a man of weaponry, a master at it really and he was quick and wiry and wily enough to slip out of anyone’s grasp._

_Anyone’s but Curt._

_He pulled Owen just the slightest bit closer until there was not even a centimeter of space between them. In his sentimentality and the afterglow of their romp, Curt couldn’t help but drink in the sight of his partner. At the way his long cage of lashes dusted against the pale skin of his cheeks, at the way his crooked jaw looked more prominent with his mouth parted as he snored softly._

_Owen’s hair had gotten longer since the last time they’d seen each other. It fell just below his ears and curled up at the base of his neck; just shy of unprofessional._

_Curt liked it long. He told Owen that it made him look more rakish but in reality, it just made him look pretty. That type of compliment was one Owen wouldn’t be able to accept if Curt had told the truth. He reached out with gentle hands and slid his digits through that brown hair, soft without the brilliantine usually slicking it back. Owen gave a snuffle, the puff of air tickling Curt’s neck, and then he surprised the other man by fluttering open his eyes._

_“’lo,” Owen mumbled, accent thickened from sleep. “Were you going to stare at me all night or get some sleep yourself, you sentimental tosser?” Owen asked, a gentle tease belied by the way he curled in closer into Curt’s embrace. Curt just smiled._

_“Well, you know me, I’m not one to miss a lovely view.” Curt told him, trying for his usual charm and bravado but falling short, falling into something soft and warm like the lamplight that cast shadows over their bodies and illuminated the faintest of pink that dusted Owen’s cheeks, barely visible but there all the same. He didn’t pull away, just smiled back at Curt for a moment before it grew somber, something splintered in his brown eyes. Owen cupped Curt’s cheek._

_“It’ll be okay.” Owen told him; large hand splayed on Curt’s face. Curt just tightened his grip, confused. “Don’t you feel guilty, love.” Owen said, more of an order than a suggestion, fingers dusting across the curve of a cheekbone._

_Curt’s brow creased, the corner of his lips turning down. Their legs brushed together, entangled, and Curt could feel the way the downy hairs there moved against one another. Could feel every inch of skin and hair and bone._

_“What do you mean?” He asked but Owen just looked at him with that soft frown and those sad wide Bambi eyes._

_“It’s okay if you’ve killed me.” Owen told him, pressing a ghost of a kiss to Curt’s lips. His voice was soft and vulnerable in a way it was usually not. Another kiss. “It’s okay if you have to do it again,” he said, pressing their lips together a third time but the sensation faded too fast, like breath upon a mirror._

_“What are you talking about?” Curt asked, the slow realization that this wasn’t real, nor was it just a memory. “Why would you say that?” He asked, pulling himself out from where Owen was sprawled atop him like a large cat and he shuffled to the other side of the bed. Curt was confused and when he was confused, he got annoyed. “I would never- “_

_And then he noticed it. The awkward slant of Owen’s body, limbs arranged in an unnatural way, the angle of his neck all wrong. The thick pool of red behind his head that leaked down into the pillow, leaving browning stains on the bedding. It was everywhere, weeping quietly from the hole between his eyes._

_“It’s okay.” Owen assured him again, moving with an awkward grace due to the state of his seemingly broken body. He curled up next to Curt again, head pillowed against his chest. They were both covered in blood now._

_“It’s okay.” Owen repeated. “I’ll forgive you your transgressions,” he promised, a kiss against his pectoral muscle this time; the press of Owen’s lips was like ice. “I absolve you of your iniquities.”_

_Curt remembered everything with a sudden startling clarity and he realized that this was just a dream. He shook his head but didn’t let go of Owen’s battered, bleeding body and held him tight. He knew that he would wake up alone and that Owen would be gone again. Knew that what he held was the visage of a ghost, just a whisper of the lover that he knew. But Curt just wanted to feel him again, even for a moment, even like this._

_Even if it wasn’t real._

_“You’re wrong.” Curt said and his voice faltered, croaked out when he tried to sound resolved. Brave. “You wouldn’t forgive me.”_

_He remembered the imposter; the rage and hatred even if it wasn’t actually his Owen. He remembered._

_“You’re just telling me what I want to hear.”_

_“Of course, I’m telling you what you want to hear, love”. Owen told him; his crumpled body aligned into a sitting position. He was bleeding still, an impossible river of red that stained his skin and the sheets below._

_He was smiling. That soft kind of smile that was always so hard won, that made Curt feel like the sun was rising, a warm and effulgent glow that nearly blinded him._

_“I’m just your subconscious, aren’t I.” Owen stated plainly. It was not an inquiry. It was a fact._

_“What else am I going to say but what you want to hear?” Owen mumbles the question quietly, still beautiful with blood running down his face, with his smile like sunshine looking out of place upon his battered visage._

And then Curt wakes up.  
  
He blinks up at the ceiling, hearing the tinny beep of the alarm clock; the sound of it off from its usual chime because of whatever beating Tatiana had given it the morning before. Curt grips the sheets and grits his teeth. His breathing is steady but his heart is pounding in his chest and the faintest bit of moisture is pooling in the corners of his eyes.  
  
Already, parts of the dream are beginning to fade away but Curt can remember the joy of it, of Owen in his arms again, followed by the horror at the sight of his lover, of how his corpse must have looked. How he _did_ look when his face was nothing more than an engineered piece of plastic on that of a dead man. An imposter. A man Curt shot point blank. ‘ _Why didn’t I argue harder?’_ Curt wonders suddenly. It hadn’t actually been Owen, of course, but he should’ve tried harder. Owen had been everything and yet when faced with him again, when he _thought_ he was faced with him again, he’d so impulsively shot him when he should’ve tried to talk him down.  
  
Curt thinks of the Owen in his dream. His gentle forgiveness, the love that seeped from his pores like the blood the poured from the gaping hole in his head.  
  
Curt groans and pulls the pillow over his face, reaching out blindly with one hand to bat at the alarm. He has to be on a plane to Bangladesh in an hour but he doesn’t want to get up.  
  
He wants a _drink._

Or, more accurately, he wants to empty the entire contents of his liquor cabinet down his throat but he’s shaken from such thoughts by a gentle rapping at his door.  
  
“Curt?” Tatiana asks from the other side, and then opens the door before waiting for a response. Curt sits up in bed and looks at her. He must appear as badly as he feels because her blank expression softens and she comes to sit next to him, pushing him until he’s sitting in the middle of the bed and she can squeeze in beside him.  
  
“Hangover?” She asks, knowing that’s not the case but trying to lighten the mood. Her pretty face is smiling but he can tell in her eyes. It’s always in the eyes. Curt thinks of Owen’s eyes in life, of Owen’s eyes in his dream. Curt blinks and looks away, wondering what his own eyes must look like. Not wanting to know. Tatiana shakes her head, ponytail flapping back and forth, batting Curt gently.  
  
“I am not surprised,” she teases. “You drink like a girl,” she tells him.  
  
Curt snorts. “I’ve been drinking since you were just a tiny baby assassin,” he tells her and Tatiana lets out a startled laugh, giving him a shove. He takes a moment to look at her better. She’s already showered and dressed, similarly to yesterday, dark slacks and a turtleneck, hair up in a tie.  
  
“Not a hangover.” Curt admits and Tatiana nods sagely. She briefly lays her head on his shoulder before sitting up, catching his wrist and dragging him out of bed.  
  
“I did not think so,” she tells him truthfully. “But I have learned how you get when I pry,” she says, still tugging on him. Curt’s large enough that he doesn’t have to let her lead him to the bathroom without forcing her to use some of those deadly skills she’s acquired in her lifetime, but he knows that he has a deadline.  
  
A mission.  
  
“I don’t _get_ like anything.” Curt says with a pout as Tatiana shoves him in the bathroom. She wags a finger at him, corner of her mouth curled up in an amused smile.  
  
“You get petulant. It is because Maggie babies you so much,” she says and then slams the bathroom door in his face. “Now shower and get ready. I would like to get food before we get on our flight and we have less than fifty minutes,” she tells him.  
  
Curt frowns, opens the door to stick his head out. “Hey!” He all but shouts, still a pout on his face though he doesn’t seem to be aware. “How do you know my mom’s name?” He asks.  
  
Tatiana just laughs. “Curt she was planning our wedding within twenty minutes of meeting me. She told me her name,” she flaps a hand at him. “Now shower. Your sweat smells like whiskey.”  
  
Curt rolls his eyes and shuts the door again, but he gives himself a brief sniff and grimaces. He does smell like a distillery. “Like you smelled much better when you woke up.” Curt grumbles as he turns on the hot water.

* * *

Bangladesh ends up easy. Too easy, in Curt’s opinion but he doesn’t complain. They’re back at the ASS headquarters in three days’ time, with a hard drive of information and twenty dead Chimera agents in their wake, as well as a smoking and smoldering facility. He knows that Cynthia, Barb, and the rest of her lab techs are waiting for them to bring back the hard drive and all of its information but Curt wants a drink first and Tatiana- she’s not quite as strait laced as she like to come off.  
  
Especially with the mission done.

They pop into a small pub once they get back into Washington, a quaint place just a few blocks from the airport. Tatiana’s ponytail is messy and despite their quick clean up the two of them have soot on their clothes and faces. The waitress at the pub doesn’t say anything as she takes their order of a whiskey and a vodka, both neat, and a sandwich for each.  
  
“To another successful mission.” Tatiana says, raising her glass before clanking it down on the table and drinking half in one go. Curt isn’t much better, three sips and his cup is already nearly depleted. Tatiana gives him a look.  
  
“I think just the one drink before we go see Cynthia,” she says. Curt nods. They finish their drinks and food and each get a coffee to take with them. They clamber back into Curt’s car and Tatiana tries to straighten her hair, blowing a red curl out of her face. They chat idly on the twenty-minute drive to the ASS headquarters. For once, Curt isn’t particularly worried about Cynthia’s ire. The mission went just as she wanted it to.

Susan is there to meet them when they enter the building, Cynthia no doubt having gotten an alert from the camera’s in the parking lot that Curt pulled in. Tatiana loops her arm through the crook of Curt’s elbow as they move to follow Susan to Cynthia’s office.  
  
“Nope. Mega, you take that information down to the lab. Cynthia wants to see Ms. Slozhno alone.” Susan explains. Curt feel a pang of- not quite fear but something akin to worry. Tatiana is as impassive as ever. Curt shakes his head. If anyone can take Cynthia, Tatiana has more than proven herself. And, if Curt isn’t completely mistaken, Tatiana has the barest hint of a smile on her face. Not something anyone else would notice; Curt only sees it himself because of how well they’ve come to know each other.  
  
“Lead on.” Tatiana says to Susan, making a gesture with her still sooty hand. Curt watches the two of them walk away, and his grip tightens on the briefcase with all of the documents and hard drive inside it. He eyes the door to the stairwell that will lead down to the basement and really- he doesn’t want to see the Owen mask again. He clenches his teeth and makes his way downstairs.  
  
Only half of the technicians are in the lab and Curt makes a beeline to Barb. She’s the one he’s most familiar with. Irene and Joseph are working on something on one of the large computers and Laura is messing with the centrifuge. Barb’s eyes light up when she sees Curt, and they brighten even further when she sees that Tatiana isn’t there. Barb is well aware, or she thinks she is, of the budding romance between the two and despite how much she may like Tati, she can’t help but feel jealous.  
  
“Curt!” Barb smiles, bounding the last few steps to him. “I heard you gathered all the intel and barely blew anything up,” she tells him.  
  
Curt shrugs, sly smile on his face. “Yeah, well, Tati and I figured it’d be best to get rid of the base. Don’t need any more Chimera agents filling it back up again.”  
  
Barb nods, still smiling as she reaches out to take the briefcase from Curt’s hands. She lays it atop a lab table and gingerly pulls out the hard drive.  
  
“I assume the documents are something you and Tatiana will be going over,” she says, already moving toward the computer to plug the device in. Curt nods.  
  
“After she gets done talking to Cynthia.” Curt says and Barb’s eyes go wide. She’s not the only one. Laura and Irene turn to look at Curt with surprised expressions.  
  
“She’s talking to Cynthia alone?” Laura asks, raising a brow. Curt nods. He’s not particularly concerned, so he lets their worry slide off of him like Teflon.

“Well.” Barb starts, watching as Curt pulls out the documents the lab will need before closing the briefcase on the rest of the papers.  
  
“I hope Tati will be okay on her own.” Barb says, worrying at her thumbnail.  
  


* * *

“Have a seat.” Cynthia says as soon as Susan leads Tatiana to her office. Tatiana sits rigidly, spine straight and face impassive. Cynthia cannot help but appreciate her deceptive skills. Once Susan has left the two alone, Cynthia pulls out two tumblers and a decanter of scotch.  
  
At this Tatiana does raise a brow while Cynthia pours them both a glass. “I’m impressed by you, Red.” Cynthia admits. “You keep Curt in line. You know how to follow directives. You almost remind me of- “She cuts herself off, thinking of the ghost that seems to haunt all of the ASS, despite never being a part of the organization. Tatiana eyes the glass warily.

“And I suppose I should assume this is poisoned.” Tatiana says, lifting the tumbler and staring at the amber liquor as it glints in the overhead light. Cynthia draws a rare real smile from this and reaches into the top drawer of her desk and slides over a vial.  
  
“Good catch,” she tells her. Tatiana seems to debate whether taking it or not but after a moment’s consideration she decides that Cynthia isn’t going to poison her twice, so against her better judgement she chugs the vial.  
  
“That’ll be the antidote for the poison I put in the Scotch.” Cynthia explains. Tatiana nods and takes a sip. It’s a good vintage, burns sweetly on her tongue.  
  
“And yourself?” Tatiana asks. Cynthia just shrugs, swirling her glass around before taking a big drink.

“I’m already immune.” Cynthia says without going into further detail. There is a long moment of silence where the only noise is coming from the low playing radio in the corner of the room.

_Through these misty eyes I see lonely skies/ Lonely road to Babylon/ Where's my family/ And my country/ heaven knows where I belong._

Gladys Knight & the Pips spools out slowly as they sip their drinks. Tatiana has a high alcohol tolerance so the drink at the pub combined with the scotch she’s drinking now merely leaves her with the slightest buzz.  
  
She finishes off her drink and leans her elbows on Cynthia’s desk, feeling emboldened. “Why did you wish to speak with me alone?” She asks.  
  
Cynthia sets down her glass. “The next base is in Russia,” she explains and Tatiana’s face instantly hardens. Cynthia notices but doesn’t stop. “I need to know that I can trust you. That you’re not going to turncoat on me,” she says.  
  
Tatiana snarls. “I will _never_ go back to the KGB,” she all but sneers. Cynthia raises a brow, otherwise blank, but inside she suppresses the smallest of a smile. She had, of course, read what all documentation she could get her hands on about Tatiana. She was abducted, yes, and raised as a weapon. It’s understandable she wants to break away…

  
But there’s always the issue of brainwashing. “I’ll need you to go through tests with Barb first.” Cynthia explains. “I’m sure you understand. Whether you’re loyal or not won’t mean anything if those pesky KGB agents planted something inside your mind,” she explains.  
  
Tatiana sits back. Crosses her arms and picks at her fingernails. “How long will this take?” She asks.  
  
“The rest of the afternoon. I’m sure Curt’s finished up in there. Go down to the labs to meet with Barb, then send him my way,” she says. Tatiana nods and moves to stand.  
  
She’s halfway to the door when Cynthia speaks again. “After this mission- if you manage to take down the Russian base and any Chimera and KGB agents inside or around it… We might consider putting you officially on the ASS payroll.”  
  
Tatiana’s heart skips a beat. “Would I- would I be an American citizen then?” She asks. Cynthia tilts her head, face giving nothing away.  
  
“You’d be here on a work visa, so technically.” Cynthia tells her. “We see how this whole Chimera thing plays out to the end and maybe we can get you full citizenship,” she says.  
  
Tatiana almost asks about her family but remembers that Maggie is working on fake documents for them. So, all Tatiana does is nod. Not quite comfortable enough to say the words thank you, but grateful all the same.  
  
And then she makes her exit without a goodbye.

* * *

Curt’s meeting with Cynthia is a lot shorter. He is not offered a drink, but neither does Cynthia scream at him or try any other manner of harm or reprimand. He’s only in her office for fifteen minutes before he’s making his way back to his own- well, his and Tati’s now, he supposes.  
  
When he enters there’s another desk crammed into the space. _Definitely both of ours now, then._ He thinks. He unloads the briefcase, takes a swig off of his flask, and then another for good measure before tucking it away, and gets to work sorting the files. Tatiana is going to be awhile so Curt wants to get some work done even though this part is so _boring_.

Still, he hasn’t lost sight of his mission. Chimera needs to be destroyed and if he has to wade through the boring drudge of office work so be it. (There’s a secret part of him still hoping to find Owen. Hoping there’s still a chance and try as he might he can seem to quash it.)

By seven in the evening Tatiana has been completely cleared by Barb and her team and is shocked and a little giddy seeing her own desk in Curt’s office. She smiles at him when he looks up from his work.  
  
“This is mine, no?” She asks and Curt nods while she strokes a hand along the shiny dark wood. “I even get a nice spinny chair like you,” she jokes.  
  
Curt laughs. “Why don’t we take the paperwork back home and go over it there. Hit up a bodega, get a bottle of something and work at the apartment?” Curt asks. Tatiana tilts her head in consideration before nodding, smile still on her face but much more subdued.

By the time they’re on Curt’s couch, eating and drinking and going over paperwork, Curt is suddenly struck by how it must look from an outsider perspective. It’s been weeks and Tatiana and him are still sharing a one-bedroom apartment. No one besides themselves know that they alternate nights on the couch.  
  
“Do people think we’re dating?” He asks, mouth half stuffed with an eggroll and whiskey glass in his freehand. Tatiana snorts.  
  
“Obviously, Curtis,” she tells him, and only his mother ever calls him that. His mother and- Curt shakes his head and it’s all he can do not to splutter his food out all over the paperwork on the coffee table.  
  
“Seriously?” He asks. Tatiana nods, delicately swirling lo mein on her chopsticks.  
  
“Have you not seen how jealous Barb is? Which is not to even mention the looks that the other agents and techs give us,” she explains. Curt is still shocked, mouth open to expose half chewed food and Tatiana bumps his shoulder. “Disgusting,” she says, using one finger to close his mouth. “Swallow your food. I swear I don’t know how Maggie dealt with you.”  
  
Curt practically chokes before taking a long dreg of his whiskey. “You’re okay with that?” He asks and all Tatiana does is shrug.

  
“I thought it was probably for the best. I mean… you don’t exactly want to have your secret found out,” she tells him. Curt nods but it still feels wrong, lying like that.

But then, on the other hand, it is a relief. Everyone thinks Tatiana is his girlfriend or at least that they’re… intimate.  
  
“I guess we can keep this up until one of us finds someone else.” Curt says. Tatiana leans against his shoulder, picking up a file and frowning at the familiarity of the picture of the base.  
  
“I suppose we can,” she says.

* * *

It’s two weeks before they’re deployed to Russia and from there, they are on radio silence. No communication devices, no one to watch they’re back. They aren’t there for the KGB but they are on enemy territory and Tatiana is uneasy. It would be so easy for someone to spot her.  
  
They check into a small rundown little motel a town over from where the facility is. Not that it’s in the actual city. It’ll take them half the day and well into nightfall to reach the countryside where the base is located. Tatiana looks over the files again as she sits on the uncomfortable motel bed. The facility shouldn’t look so familiar. She doesn’t remember it and yet… there’s something about it.  
  
“You ready to go?” Curt asks. He’s already donned an all-black attire and carefully concealed all the weapons and gadgets that the lab technicians provided him. Tatian was ready to go an hour ago but she wanted to look over the file one more time. She stands gracefully and checks to make sure all her own weapons and gadgets are concealed before tucking her bright hair underneath a black wool cap. The less recognizable the better.

The drive is uneventful. Tatiana takes the wheel because Curt has been drinking again, something she’s starting to realize is a problem with him, but declines to comment on it at this time. The facility is several miles south of Nordvik and they don’t arrive until nearly midnight.  
  
Not that it matters. The place seems to be teeming with activity. In fact, there already seems to be a fight going on if the screaming and bouts of gunfire are anything to go by. Curt and Tati exchange a glance. They each pull out a gun as they exit the car, shoulders straight back and completely in spy mode.  
  
“I’ll go in through the ducts.” Tatiana explains, pointing to a roof access and pulling out what looks like a retractable grappling hook. Curt nods.  
  
“Guess it’s the backdoor for me,” he says, before turning and grasping Tatiana by the forearm. “We reconvene in an hour. You have the blueprints too, meet me where they store their supercomputer” he says.  
  
“Alright, then. Good luck, Curt Mega,” she tells him.  
  
Curt gives Tatiana’s arm one last squeeze. “Good luck to you to Tati.”

* * *

Making it up the side of the building and into the ducts is easy enough. She manages to take out several people from above, only freezing when she realizes that there are indeed KGB agents inside as well as Chimera. No doubt trying to do what the ASS is doing. She crawls through cobwebs and dust until she sees a vent above an empty hallway and drops her way inside.  
  
The peace doesn’t last long. A chimera agent rounds the corner and Tatiana takes him out with one shot to the head, lucky for the element of surprise, but having given away her location from the noise. She does her best to be sneaky but the place is filled with people and after just twenty minutes she’s sporting bruises and contusions and a graze from a bullet on her right arm. But the noise is dying down. The sounds of fighting lessening. Tatiana can only hope that it’s because of Curt and not because either Chimera or the KGB are winning.  
  
She goes over the blueprints she memorized and realizes she needs to take the north corridor down and then two lefts and she’ll be in the computer room and labs. She straightens her wool cap and reloads her clip and is about to make her trek when two strong arms grab her from behind.  
  
“You don’t look Chimera,” the man holding her says, accent thick but familiar. Tatiana’s eyes widen and she quickly steps on the man’s foot and throws all of her weight forward while keeping her own feet planted firmly on the ground. The man tumbles to the floor, head hitting the concrete with a dull thunk. He blinks up at her for a moment, mouth agape.

“Tatiana?” He asks. “Ana?” Ivan blinks up at her with his wide brown eyes and his handsome face. Whatever feelings for him she had before, whatever she may still harbor, she can’t let it interfere with the mission. Except, when she goes to kick him in the head and knock him unconscious, she finds that she cannot.

“Go,” she commands, voice like steel. “This whole place will be ash in minutes,” she gives him a hard look, stomach swimming at the look of reverence on his face. He had been one of the children that she trained with, another lost kid taken in and used as a tool. “Tell anyone about this and I will come back and kill you,” she says, and she isn’t sure whether she’s telling the truth or not.  
  
Ivan climbs up slowly, gathers his bearings and then takes a step toward her. “I thought you were dead,” he says. “After you deflected- they told us that they killed you,” he tells her. Tatiana snorts.  
  
“To keep you in line, I’m sure,” she says. “Now, go,” she gives him a shove.  
  
“Ana- “He starts but Tatiana holds up a finger.  
  
“I do not go by that any longer. Go, Ivan or you will die here,” she tells him. He seems to think about it for a moment and just when it looks like he’s going to flee he reaches out and grabs her in a quick hug, pressing something into her neck so quick and painlessly she doesn’t even feel it.  
  
“We will see each other again,” he promises her as he runs off, but Tatiana is already moving in the opposite direction towards the north corridor. There’s still stragglers, Chimera and KGB alike, but Tatiana takes them out with efficiency and skill, though she does nearly miss a bullet to the gut and a crowbar to the skull. Instead she grapples the crowbar out of the larger man’s hands and turns it against him, efficiently knocking him out and possibly killing him from the gash openly weeping on his skull.  
  
By the time she gets to the computer room Curt is already there, a slew of lab techs and guards and all kinds of agents in his wake. He isn’t called the best for nothing, but he is having trouble getting into the mainframe.  
  
Tatiana pushes him aside. “Go wire the explosives. Give me… fifteen minutes. I’ll get this,” she says. Curt nods and pats his briefcase.  
  
“I already got the physical documents. Dossiers, planners, invoices and shit. You better be out of here in fifteen, Tati or I’ll never forgive you.” Curt tells her, before going to plant the bombs.  
  
Tatiana makes quick work of the computer. She’s a fast learner and after Barb showing her the first time and doing it at the last compound, it’s a walk in the park. The only issue is that this computer houses a lot more information than the last and its saying that it’ll take twenty minutes to transfer all of the information.  
  
“Come on, come on.” Tatiana urges, easily shooting someone coming up behind her without even turning back. She can feel the seconds ticking down. The system still says ten minutes which means she only has five minutes to get the info and make a run for it. She debates for a moment. Should she leave it half finished? Would that corrupt what she’s already transferred?  
  
 _‘I’m going to die in Russia,’_ she thinks glibly, more annoyed than anything else. She braces herself, tamps down the fear. She has two minutes now and even if she grabs what she has and runs she’ll never make it out. ‘ _Sorry, Curt,’ s_ he thinks, selfless enough that she knows losing another partner will destroy him. ‘ _Sorry mama and nana, sorry sestra Lada and sestra Galina. Sorry Fyodor and babushka.’_ She looks at the clock. One minutes. She grips the edge of the mainframe and steels herself.  
  
 _‘Sorry Ivan.’_ she thinks, hoping he made it out. And then finds herself mentally apologizing to Barb and Cynthia as well. Bracing herself. Ready for the impact.

Nothing happens. She opens her eyes, unsure of when she closed them. The computer screen now read three minutes to transfer. Maybe Curt got held up, maybe he got hurt, maybe- The transfer finishes and Tatiana swiftly snatches the hard drive and makes her way as quickly as she can through the compound, taking down any stragglers that cross her path.  
  
When she steps outside, she sees a flash light blink three times in the nearby clearing and rushes over, a sign Curt and her had already devised. He’s kneeling in the grass just within the line of the nearby woods and Tatiana grips him, wild eyed.  
  
“You said fifteen minutes!” She all but shouts. Curt winces, looks down at the detonator and let out a quiet huff.  
  
“I’ve made that mistake before. Setting the charges too early. I thought- I thought I would give you extra time,” he explains.  
  
Tatiana does not cry. Not easily. But there are tears in her eyes as she throws herself into Curt’s arms. “Thank you,” she mumbles over and over again as Curt’s strong arms wrap around her in return.  
  
“Not looking to lose another partner. Especially not _you._ ” Curt says. Tatiana huffs out a sigh and then suddenly the ground is shaking as the building goes up in a glorious blaze of smoke and fire.

“The computer took longer this time. Twenty minutes. If you wouldn’t have set it for later- Curt I would be dead.”  
  
Curt just smiles at her. “Well, I’m glad I did. I like my partners of the non-crispy variety,” he says and then whatever dark humor he had about the situation fades, undoubtedly thinking about Owen.  
  
“C’mon.” Tatiana tells him, pulling Curt towards the car. “Back to the motel room, and then we’ll need to be at the pickup point by one,” she says. Curt nods and allows himself to be led to the car. Curt drives this time. Tatiana is far more beaten up than himself and she just suffered what she thought was a near death experience.  
  
There are a few more agents, Chimera mostly, mulling around outside the smoking building. Tatiana pulls her gun on some of them while Curt simply runs into the others with the car until they don’t see anyone else. “ _Now_ , motel.” Curt says and they finally make their way back by the time the sun is rising.

* * *

Tatiana is officially made part of the ASS team. To celebrate Curt and her have drinks while poring over documents for the next facility. It’s on an island, minimal security, much like the one they took out with the Owen double and they don’t end up needing to spend too much time going over everything. They get another two-week reprise before they’re sent back out but all that’s really there is lab techs and a handful of guards. If the first compound was a cakewalk, then this one is a leisurely stroll on a sunny day.

They’re back in three days’ time. Cynthia goes over the mission with them, once again oddly pleased, and she holds Tatiana back while she sends Curt down to the labs. Curt tries not to be jealous. For all that they didn’t get along at first, Cynthia sure has taken a liking to Tatiana and he can help but feel envious.  
  
Still, he does what he’s told and goes down to talk to the lab team. The full crew is there, running around like crazy. Barb looks up at him when he enters, wild eyed and hair a mess.  
  
“We cracked it!” She exclaims. “We know exactly what the masks are made out of. It’s a mix of human skin cells, stem cells, and a silicone network that almost acts like veins to the nodes which allow for all the minute facial expressions. We never would’ve figured it out without the information you got!” She says, and then throws herself in Curt’s arms.  
  
She seems to remember something, likely her incorrect notion that Tatiana and Curt are dating, and she quickly pulls away.

“This is fabulous news,” she tells him and Curt tries to crack a smile. All this work, all this information and knowledge and danger- and still nothing about Owen. Curt refuses to lose hope but it’s getting hard.

“Anything else I need to know?” Curt asks but Barb just shakes her head. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Charlie glancing at them jealously and Curt has to hold back a laugh. “Heya, Barb,” he says before she can even answer his question. “How do you feel about Charlie?” He asks.  
  
Barb bites her lip. “What do you mean?” She asks.  
  
“I mean he gives you the big ol’ moon eyes whenever you’re in the room.” Curt says and Barb actually looks shocked.  
  
“No! Really?” She asks. Curt chuckles.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe you should talk to him. I bet you have a lot in common and he isn’t bad looking.” Well, he’s cute but certainly not Curt’s type. He likes them tall and waifish. Barb chances a look at Charlie.  
  
“He is really sweet,” she says. “Maybe I will. I mean- you and Tati are happy, right?” She asks. Curt’s taken off guard but only for a second.  
  
“Yeah,” he lies. “And everybody should have someone. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out.”  
  
At that Barb grins. “Thanks, Curt. I might just talk to him,” she says. “Now, about the rest of the information…”

* * *

Despite how easy the last mission was they get an even longer break. Curt gets the documents from his mom for Tatiana’s family and he debates giving them to her, scared that she’ll leave him, but eventually does the right thing and she’s completely over the moon.  
  
“They’ll be official American citizens now,” she says. “I cannot wait to tell them, this is amazing,” she whizzes off to use his phone. Of course, it will be a month at least before they can find a place here in the states to move to, so it gives Curt just a little bit more time alone with his best friend.  
  
And then, of course, they’re called onto the next mission.

* * *

Out in the deep country, the dark of the night hides well their black car. Their journey is slow down the empty unpaved road. Currently, they’re in the middle of Australia, trying to find a warehouse that Barb deciphered the coordinates for from the notes that Curt and Tatiana turned in. Despite the fact that they aren’t driving too quickly dirt and tiny rocks fly out from beneath their tires, and there’s dust in the air that they’ve stirred up. The entire range is nothing but wilderness. The moon is high and full, the sky a cluster of a million stars and they all stare at him with Owen’s eyes. Despite their glow the area isn’t particularly visible save for the space in front of their headlights.

Tatiana is driving and Curt is trying to not look petulant in the passenger seat. From what he read of the briefing for this facility, the fourth now in their quest, there doesn’t seem like there’s anything important to be done here. Or at least not anything important for him to do.

Tatiana and Curt are to download information off of the computer system there, and take out any agents inside of the facility before burning the whole place down. Curt needs to be out looking for the director. He needs to know why. Why Owen’s face? Why taunt Curt specifically? Curt knows that he’s the best spy there is but it still doesn’t make sense when he was out of the business for four years. He needs to find the director and force the answers out of him while he takes him slowly apart. He doesn’t need to be getting information off of computers and shooting down lackies.

Curt’s is at least looking forward to blowing the place up but he has this inconsolable, gnawing, yawning, ache buried within his chest. A rending; an impossible hope, of which he feels utterly incapable of releasing. And yet Owen is dead. They’ve all but proven that and Curt feels oppressive acceptance. He cannot be haunted by a ghost forever, as much as he had loved the man. Curt can’t afford to lose himself in his pain because he has to do this, he has to take down Chimera for Owen. For justice, he tells himself.

Because it is the last thing Curt give to Owen.

Because maybe then, Curt can finally let him go.

Tatiana finally breaks the silence. “You are quiet,” she says glibly, navigating the streets easily for someone who only glanced at the map for a few minutes before starting the journey.

Curt shrugs. His shoulders are hunched forward slightly but his face is impassive, save for a downturn of his lips. Tatiana almost sighs but restrains herself. “Well, I think the information we get off of the networking system will really help Barb find the remaining locations,” Tatiana tries to strike up conversation, forcing a smile on her face that feels false and too enthusiastic, but Curt doesn’t notice, too absorbed in himself.

There’s a pit in Tatiana’s stomach, some lizard brain response, animal instinct, that’s setting her at unease and it isn’t because of Curt’s silence. She sits ramrod straight as she drives, eyes firmly planted on the road as she tries to suppress any ill feelings she’s having about this mission.

Tatiana gives an imperceptible shake of her head and her smile falls into something at least a little more natural. She needs something to distract her. And honestly, she would like a conversation with Curt to be that distraction because the man is far too quiet, as well.

“We might even get some more names of the members. We take out the bases, but they will just regroup until we eradicate the people devoted to their organization,” she continues, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

At that, Curt nods. “Yeah. We need to kill every single one of them. Everyone from Chimera has to be gotten rid of. It’s the only way to stop them for sure,” Curt pauses and his posture straightens, shoulders squaring, “but boy I do get my kicks blowing these facilities to smithereens,” he says and a small smile plays on his face. He really does love causing explosions. There is something so satisfying to watch a building burn and crumble, even if the thought of such had haunted and nearly ruined him once upon a time.

Now, destroying Chimera, Curt can find a perverse enjoyment again; in watching the bases blow. A sense of victory and darker still a sense of vengeance that feeds that angry hollow ache inside of his chest.

When they finally get to the compound the gate is open and the lights are all completely off, not another car in sight. The place looks empty, but there’s been no word of abandonment. Tatiana and Curt share a look.

“Well,” Curt drawls out. “This isn’t suspicious at all,” he says as Tatiana slowly drives through the gate, the both of them scanning the area, their hands on their guns. Tatiana parks the car and the two turn to one another.

“It could be deserted,” Tatiana says but she doesn’t sound convinced. Curt hums, drawing his gun and climbing out of the car, body already tensed and ready for a fight. His gun is loose at his side and he has that gleam in his eyes, that of a man looking for a brawl.

Curt is, at heart, a bit of a bruiser. A hands-on kind of fellow.

Tatiana was trained to use her body as a weapon since a small child. She will get physical if necessary but her body is her own now so she prefers a gun. Less personal that way. She watches Curt look around the parking lot and rolls her eyes. She pulls out her gun before following him. One of these days Curt’s impulsive bravado is going to be the death of either of them.

There are two entrances to the building, a front entrance that is supposed to be swarming with security but is completely empty. There is a second entrance in the back with stairs leading down to a basement door. It takes merely a nod between the two of them before they’ve both come to the same decision.

They are silent as they make their way to the back. They pause every few moments to do another scout of the area, backs pressed together and guns raised in front of them, pointing towards the sky, the parking lot, the top of the building; both of them ready to react at a moment’s notice.

The double doors of the basement appear… easily penetrable. Curt gets an uneasy feeling up his spine at the sight of the door unprotected and sporting a singular lock. Tatiana pulls a tool out of the back of her pocket and begins to pick it. She has it open in twenty seconds and she pulls a face, eyes hardening as she stands.

She looks up at Curt with a steeled expression, eyebrows both raised and lips pinched, spine a straight line as she tucks her tool back into her pocket. Curt tilts his head at her, eyes narrowing even though he gets the expression, the skepticism behind it. That prickling of wrongness he can’t shake out.

“This is a trap,” Tatiana says, her accent thicker than usual, arms crossing over her chest in such a manner that her gun is still pointed upwards. Curt shrugs. He shakes his head. They have a mission. This is the only mission. Curt sees this now. No matter how small, taking Chimera down piece by piece is the most important thing in his life.

“We go in anyway,” Curt says, searching Tatiana’s eyes, looking for understanding, looking to see if she gets what he’s really asking for, looking for agreement. He reaches out his arm to her. Tatiana sighs, mouth and eyes still pinched as she uncrosses her arms, hesitating only briefly before grasping his forearm. But she is looking down at the ground, shaking her head.

“Curt Mega, you will be the death of me.” Tatiana says, eyes still on the stairs, voice somewhere between playful and serious. It’s like a cold bucket of water splashed in his face and he blinks, hears the sound of Owen’s voice faintly in the back of his mind. Curt pushes it down.

He releases Tatiana’s arm. Some of the resolve in him is lessened and he’s slumped a little, playing with his gun awkwardly. “I’ll try to never let you down,” Curt tells her honestly, voice rougher than he means for it to be. They both glance up and meet eyes, nodding in unison as Curt opens the door.

The interior is dark and empty, mostly lined with filing cabinets here on the bottom level. They slip through the aisles looking for the stairs to lead them to the upper level where the computer systems are stored. As they near the edge of the room, backs against the wall as they stealthily move forward, they begin to notice a singular light hanging near the end of the stairs

Curt and Tatiana both raise their weapons, ready to shoot as they round the final corner towards the light. Curt’s gun almost falters.

He’s sitting on a small table by the stairs, legs crossed at the knee and a cigarette caught between his lips.

There he is.

There he is with eyes a dark brown and thick hair longer than the last time Curt saw him, still slicked back with brilliantine but curling behind his ears and sweeping low enough on his neck that its only inches above his shoulder.

No. No the last time Curt saw him. The last time he saw his imposter.

But there he is now with his heart like a hornet’s nest, the sign of it shining behind his gaze and the grin on his face is like crushed glass; like blood will leak from his lips due to the shards of his smile. His eyes hold a myriad of emotions, a million passing feelings the Curt can’t help but be able to read. There’s impetuousness and gloating, and surprisingly, sadness. And, Curt can make out every sentiment gleaming there, just like he could make out every star gleaming in the Australian night sky earlier.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” he says as he takes a slow drag off of his cigarette. The cherry burns brightly in the faint glow of the room that is only illuminated by the single bulb, nothing more than enough to give off a glow to display the familiar features of the man sitting in front of him.

Tatiana is standing behind Curt with her weapon poised on the sitting man, but Curt is barely aware of her presence. His eyes are fixed to the spot, his heart beating so fast it feels it will break his ribcage. Still, Curt’s own weapon is drawn and aimed. He’s not foolish. Once bitten twice shy, and all that.

The sitting man’s smile impossibly widens. There’s something dark and coy in that grin, not quite crushed ice but still out of place on that face Curt knows so well. The man raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as he artfully blows a smoke ring and runs a hand through his hair.

His gaze on Curt has never wavered but now it is even more piercing. He licks his lips and tilts his head.

“Hello, Love,” Owen says

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter beated by [VioletHeart3899](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHeart3899)
> 
> The title is from [The Memory is Cruel - Russian Red](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfhRicrwaCs).
> 
> And if you couldn't guess Ivan is 'played' Sean Persaud. According to google, Ivan is actually the Russian form of the name Sean. Any native Russian speakers feel free to correct me.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always greatly appreciated. Even if it's negative. Workshopped with [OTPGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPGirl/pseuds/OTPGirl)


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